Humanity
by saygnightx
Summary: A series of one shot chapers about Roger and his human nature. I THOUGHT OF MORE CHAPTERS! R&R, please!
1. Curiosity

**Disclaimer: I don't own the genius that is RENT. That's all Jon, baby. :) **

**Warning: Mentions of sex, and foul language. **

**I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. Forgive me? I hope so. Read my other fics, lovelies. Thankyouuu. **

**--**

It's human curiosity to want to search every where and anywhere we can to find out where we had fallout and made a mistake. It's human **wanting** to feel that satisfaction that comes with doing what is needed to make the damage our mistake made, right again. Everyone needs that feeling after we've done something wrong.

After we've hurt someone, someone we truly care about, we can feel it in our gut. We feel it in our gut, heart, mind, and soul that the damage needs to be repaired. It needs to be set right immediately; we don't want to lose them. Losing the ones we love is like taking a chunk out of us. Like taking it out and never, ever being able to get back and be whole again.

I could feel my heart thumping hard in my chest. I swore that it was either going to burst in my ribcage, or out of it. _Why did I have to say that to her? Why did I even bring my damn mouth into it?_

There goes that curiosity again. Why can't my head shut up for once? Agh! Okay, all these fucking question are making my head hurt. I hate thinking this hard. It gives me a headache.

Oh, right. Let me fill you in. I'm Roger Davis. That's right, Roger "sex/rock god" Davis. And right now my girlfriend, the ever _'beautiful!', I yell to her through the door as she curses right back,_ Mimi Marquez, is sulking and cursing in Spanish in our bedroom.

I'm banging on the door every once and a while, almost able to feel the cuts and bruises from the unforgiving wood, forming on my hands and knuckles.

She just tells me she 'doesn't want to talk to me', to 'go away', and my personal favorite, 'go fuck yourself Roger Davis.'

Ahhh, yes. My sweet as sugar Mimi.

"Mimi! Come on, baby. Just tell me what was wrong with what I said! I don't know why you're so mad at me. I was just wondering!" I yell to her, my sentences punctuated by more banging on the bedroom door.

"You're such an inconsiderate bastard, Roger! You didn't even think about how I would feel about it! You just said it without thinking! God!" I could hear something being thrown across the room. Thank God my guitar was out with me.

I hit the door a few more times. "Please, Mimi. Just come out and talk to me. You know how stupid I am. Just give me a chance to explain myself!"

I can hear an angry huff from inside the room. "No Roger, there's no explaining what you said. It was pretty clear."

I sigh and rest my head on the door. "Mimi, I'm sorry. Please I just-"

She's frustrated. "No Roger! According to what you said, I'm not good enough. I'm not all that you want! You need something more! I mean, shit Rog. That's horrible for a girl to hear from the man she thought was in love with her!"

I give an aggravated kick to the door. "I love you, Mimi! I was just wondering! I didn't mean- I just- Ah, fuck! I'm not good at this."

"Move away from the door."

I oblige and she opens the door. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy from crying. My chest tightens. I hate seeing her cry.

"Baby-" she puts her hand up to stop me. Again, I oblige.

Her voice is rough from screaming. At another time, it would've been a turn on. Now, I can feel a part of me ripping out. Like I'm losing her. I can't do this. I can't lose her, I love her too damn much. "Roger, I- listen. When you said that, I just….felt so empty. Like you didn't need me. Like I wasn't enough for you anymore." she sniffles and my heart wrenches tighter.

Is it bad that I find it adorable when she sniffles during a fight?

"….and I just wish-" I put a hand to her soft, perfect lips. Her big brown eyes watch me.

"Mimi, I'm so sorry. You're everything to me. You're my sun and moon. You're what's on my mind when I wake up, and when I go to sleep. After we hug or kiss, I hold onto your warmth for fear of losing it. Everything about you, I love. I couldn't stop loving you if I wanted to." I step closer to her and wipe away a stray tear, along with a lock of her hair. Her lips are tugging into a smile. My heart flutters. "Please, know I'm sorry. I love you. You know that, right?"

She nods.

I smile and pull her into my arms. I can feel her take in my scent and pull her body farther into my embrace. My heart warms so much that I think it's melting. I kiss the top of her head and then rest my chin on it.

Her voice is muffled in my chest, but I can hear it. She's laughing. "What is it?" I ask, beginning to chuckle myself. Her laugh is infectious.

She laughs harder and hits my chest. I feign hurt. She laughs at my playful expression. "What is it?" I ask again.

She calms down, her laughing only small giggles now. She looks right at me. "A threesome, Roger?" I shrug, and she laughs again.

Human curiousity.

--

**I hope you guys like it! I like it a lot. It was so much fun to write this chapter. Seriously. So, R&R, guys! _Te Amo._**


	2. Emotion

**Disclaimer: I don't own the genius that is RENT. That's all Jon, baby. :) **

**Warnings: Mentions of sex and contains foul language. It's RENT, whatcha expect? **

**Hey! Second chapter today! I should get like, a cookie or something. Hmmm, anyone have a cookie? **

**Anyways, hope you like this chapter too:) **

--

We all have emotions. Whether we cover them up, or wear our hearts on our sleeves, our emotions are there. Our emotions are our very souls magnified; our whole embodiment in one fell swoop of hormones and situation. The place we're in, the life we lead, the people we're with, it all comes into play with our emotions. There are certain situations that make me mad, sad, frustrated, happy, grumpy, elated, etc. My emotions run on a short fuse, and they come hard.

I'm Roger Davis, and I'm an emotional time bomb.

I'll admit, when I get angry, I get **angry**. When I get sad, I get **sad**. My emotions run so high; people could get euphoric if they were drugs. My emotions are on such a short fuse; cannons would backfire on a soldier two seconds after it was lit. Sometimes, I just can't control myself. The situation. The people. It all gets to me at once; I just can't handle it sometimes.

Sometimes, I feel so full of emotion, I might explode. I need to vent it. I need to let it go. I'm not Mark. I need to let my emotions show. I have to.

Mark is mad. We fought. He said something that hit me the wrong way. I tried to hold it all in. I tried not to blow up, I really did. But, like I said, I have to let it out. I just have to.

He's shuffled out of his room. He glances over at me on the ragged couch, my hair a mess and my beloved guitar draped over my lap. I pluck its strings every few seconds, too tired to even try to play Musetta's Waltz.

His voice is draped in sleep; it's rough and cracks every once and a while. He heads to the 'kitchen'. "Rog?"

I grunt in response. So. damn. tired.

"You want some coffee?"

Another grunt.

"Okay, I take that as a yes." he says, slightly annoyed. He hates when I don't answer him with words. I hate that he cares.

Why is he suddenly on my nerves?

I rise from the couch, setting my guitar on the make-shift coffee table, and go into the kitchen where he's making coffee. I cross my arms over my chest and clear my throat to get his attention. He turns around and raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"What the fuck is your problem?" I know I'm being an ass. I don't even know why I'm starting this. But, my heart is burning, my hands are clenched, and I can feel my jaw setting hard against itself.

He looks confused. He doesn't know what he did wrong. It makes me angry and I don't know why. I suppose I like the rise out of people. I like the reaction. I want to see people feel as much as I do.

He leans against the counter and surveys me. I can see him trying to figure out what's got me so pissed. I can see his mind working.

That's what 7 years of being best friends does to you, I suppose.

His jaw clenches and unclenches. Mine's clenched still. I can feel it starting to hurt. I need his reaction. I need to let this emotion out. I can't handle it. "What. the. fuck. is. your. problem?" I say again, getting increasingly closer to him.

He doesn't look nervous. His breathing isn't shallow. He's not afraid of me.

His blue eyes flash with ideas. He's trying to figure out ways to turn the anger he knows so well of me, into a lighter, better mood.

Damn him. What if I need this anger? We can't all be bottled up.

I growl. He snorts and pushes me away from him lightly with two of his fingers. His gaze doesn't leave mine. He's discovered how to make it better. And I'm going to fall right into it.

His eyes soften. I can feel the hard ice melting quickly around mine. It's hard to stay mad at my best friend.

He chuckles and throws a tea bag at my head. My mouth opens in shock. He laughs again.

"Oh, you are so gonna pay for that." My eyes are warm. I forgot why I was mad. The happiness I'm venting through this play with him is letting it out. I'm letting it go. It feels so good.

He's laughing. He's just as happy as I am. I'm getting the exact reaction I needed.

Another tea bag hits my head. I growl playfully.

"Oh no! Please, Roger! Spare me!" He's messing with me. I can't help but feel that smile pull at my lips.

Damn him.

I chase him around the living room. I tackle him. We have a pillow fight. We tickle one another. We've become five again for about 20 minutes.

When it's over, his face is red from the exertion. My hair is frizzy and I'm breathing heavily.

He hits my chest and I hit his. We laugh.

"I love you, Rog."

"Love you too, man."

"Still best friends?"

"Always."

I smirk. So does he.

My emotions are vented. I'm free.

Human emotion.

--

**Chapter two, DONE! As of right now, I only have two more chapters planned. But, if you want me to write more, then tell me! Thank you, all! R&R. :) **

**_Te Amo._ **

**saygnight**


	3. Pride

**Disclaimer: I don't own the genius that is RENT. That's all Jon, baby. :) **

**Warnings: Mentions of sex and contains foul language. It's RENT, whatcha expect? **

**Hey, guys! I'm on a roll! Here's chapter three. **

**I plan on having three chapters after this one. lust, loathing, and sorrow.**

**If you can think of anymore things relating to Roger that you want to read, TELL ME! I'll write it for you. Cause I love you that much. :)**

**--**

Pride is like helium. It starts out slow, a small high. You almost don't even notice it. But soon, the pride high begins to hit you hard. Your ego begins to soar. Your mind is off on some cloud that doesn't even have a number. All you know is that cloud nine is a small dot in the distance.

Unfortunately, so are the people closest to you. You don't even notice you've lost them until they're gone. You're so high off the ground that the cloud nine feeling you had being with them, shrinks into the small dot the damn cloud became.

You were rude. You were an ass. And you didn't even notice.

I, of course, have experience with this dangerous 'helium'.

I'm Roger Davis. And I was a pride addict.

I was a rock star. I was the crème of the crop. I was the guy every girl and sometimes guys, wanted to sleep with. I was the guy every other guy wanted to be. They wanted to be the rock god in the skin tight jeans, having hot, screaming women fall all other them.

I mean, who wouldn't want that, right?

I flew on the high of pride, sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I was sucked in the minute I pushed my lips to the cold metal of a microphone; the first time I breathing in the blissfully smoky air of the cheap bar. It was amazing, euphoric, and I was addicted.

So many people loved me. I had so many fans that pride melded into my very being.

I met Mark, Collins, and Benny. I met the bouncy brunette, Maureen. They all become my roommates, friends, and confidantes. I loved them.

But, not as much as I loved the high of my drugs, girls, and pride. I was hooked. I went out to my gigs, sober. I came back, a drunk, snappy, high off my ass, stuck to the lips of some girl, mess. The girl, drugs, and alcohol all melded together to make me something I wish I had never become.

I was losing the people I loved most. They were disappointed in me. I was oblivious.

Then, I met April. She not only filled me with pride about my music, but about being with her. She loved me, and I loved her.

She was my angel.

--

"Hey baby?" Her voice was soft, just like the fingers she was running along my chest. God, why was she so perfect?

I kissed the top of her head. "Yes, April?" I was chipper. We both were. Withdrawal from our earlier hit hadn't gotten to us yet. We were cuddling on the old, loft couch.

She smiled at the kiss on her head. "Are you happy with me?" Her green gaze drifted up to mine. She seemed so innocent. No one else would have known. She was a badass and an angel. People usually only saw the badass.

I got the angel. I didn't mind.

I ran my not as soft fingers along her jaw line. I felt her shudder. I smirked. Her eyes sparkled. "Yes. The happiest I've ever been in my life. I love you." I kissed her lips. She shuddered again.

The pride welled up in me. I loved making her shudder; made me feel like I was doing something right.

She licked her lips lightly. "I love you too." She paused. I knew there was something else she wanted to say. She cleared her throat and looked in my eyes. I could see tears in hers. My heart wrenched.

I pulled her closer. "Baby, what's wrong? Don't cry." She fell into my chest and sobbed.

I wanted to make it better. If only she would tell me what was wrong. I could only rub her back and whisper in her ear that it would be okay.

But what would be okay?

She sniffled and pulled away from me. I wiped her tears away with my shirt. I kiss her fingers. "Baby, what's the matter?"

She smiled and ran her thumb over my fingers. My heart melted. "Nothing's the matter, love. I just, love you so much. Don't leave, okay?"

I nodded and pulled her close again. I kissed her temple as she clung to my shirt. We fell asleep a few minutes later.

My angel, April; nothing would take her away.

--

She killed herself the next week. I was devastated.

I kept my promise to her for almost a half a year afterwards. All through my withdrawal, I didn't even look at another girl.

Mark tried to make me feel better. I thought I'd lost him. I had no idea why he even stuck around after the way I treated him. Benny had already moved out and Maureen met Joanne. I wasn't even around after his break-up to help him.

I was such a prick.

But, he tried to help me feel that euphoric pride again. He tried.

--

He sat down next to me on the couch. I was staring at nothing on the far wall of the loft. My withdrawal was over for the most part. I still felt it every once and a while.

He shifted his weight so I would know he was there.

I knew. I just didn't want to notice. I was down. My pride was sucked dry along with the last remnants of April and my heroin.

He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up on his nose. I didn't turn. So he just spoke, hoping I would listen. I did, to make up for the way I treated him in the past.

"Rog, you're an amazing musician. Please don't bottle yourself up like this. Dust off your guitar. It'll make you feel better." He paused and I felt the smooth wood of my acoustic slid under my hands. I turned to face him, my green eyes warming ever so slowly.

He cared so much. He knew how much I needed this. My music was my art, my passion, my addiction.

He smiled weakly, but he was happy he was getting through to me. "Roger," he set his hand on my forearm, "you are one of the most talented singers and musicians I know. The world deserves to have you out there again." He took a breath and smirked at me. I chuckled lightly and he beamed.

My voice was rough from such a long silence. "Thank you. Thank you, Mark."

"Remember, you're a great artist. Don't let losing her get you down. Please." He let go of my arm and got off the couch.

His words echoed in my ears and my heart swelled. I laced my fingers around the neck of my guitar. My fingers landed on the cool strings. I plucked one of them. A sour note came out and I tuned it.

I played Musetta's Waltz for the first time in months. It sounded good.

I sang. I heard Mark walk to the doorway and listen. An audience just like at the bars. But, it was better.

April was gone, but Mark was there. He made me feel like I meant something.

He clapped for me. We talked, joked, and I told him how I was going to start gigs again. I told him how amazing I was going to be.

"Sure Rog. Of course you are." He was being sarcastic, but I knew he was proud of me. He was there for me.

"I am. I'm amazing and you know it."

He just laughed.

Human pride.

--

**And, done! Well, there's chapter three. I hope you liked it. **

**I'd really like it if you'd review it. It'd mean the world. ;) **

**More chapters coming! **

_**Te amo.**_

**saygnight**


	4. Loathing

**Disclaimer: I don't own the genius that is RENT. That's all Jon, baby. :) **

**Warning: Foul language. **

**Hey guys! I'm back! I'm sooooooo sorry I took forever with this next chapter. I hope people are still reading. I have two more chapters after this one. ENJOY! **

**--**

You know, loathing is a funny thing. Loathing is more than just not wanting to be around someone. Loathing is that, burn in your stomach when you seem them, wanting to find the nearest bathroom so you can puke over their face, wanting to beat their brains out just for existing, kind of feeling. Loathing comes when you least expect it, too. It hits you like a small mosquito bite at first; it's annoying, but it's not enough to bother you to an extreme. Then, all of a sudden, cruel fate steps in. That damn fate shoves you together at every possible moment, trying to pull out some entertainment from watching the loathing bubble and almost spill over into a full fledged ass-kicking.

We all know someone that we loath. No matter if you're the nicest person on the planet; you loath someone. Even if it's just for a passing second that you see that person on the street. You might hear that person talking to someone else in a restaurant, and something they say makes you want to turn around and give them a good hit to the face, just for being a rude, nasty piece of human. Even if that person would be considered completely innocent because they have no idea who you are and what you believe is rude to begin with.

Of course, I have had this feeling. I'm only human, you know? I mean, I've had passing loathing, sure. But I've also had that kind of distaste and anger that makes you do something very stupid. Something against that horrible person that changes your relationship all together.

And this is my story of how I destroyed my ex-friend's car. I'm Roger Davis, by the way.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. You think I'm crazy and that I should be in jail for blowing up a car. I mean, I could have really hurt someone, right? Well. Here's the deal. See, this guy was—is—a prick. He's a rich, snobby, arrogant, inconsiderate, impassionate bastard. I hate the guy. He makes me physically nauseous every time we make eye contact.

The weird thing is, we used to be friends. Before Mark, Collins, and Reen, he was the guy I called my best friend. The kind of best friend that when you get married, both of you tell the other one that they're gonna be your best man, and it's true. You meant it with your whole entire heart. You're best friends after all, right?

Well, not anymore. Benjamin Coffin the Third will never be my best man, even with our history.

--

"Hey, Ben!" I yell through my bedroom door. Even though the loft we had just started living in was a shithole, it was still pretty big. You had to be loud in order for anyone to hear you.

About 30 seconds later, I get a response. "What, Davis?" He was in my bedroom doorway now. He didn't like yelling across the loft all that much to begin with. I had always been a loud person.

My head was stuck in the closet. My damn ass was stuck out along with my long, jean clad legs; my feet were bare. I heard Ben laugh at how stupid I looked. I ignored him. "Where the hell are my cigarettes?"

"Why are you looking in the closet?"

I pulled my head out of the closet and rolled my eyes at him. "It's the only place I haven't looked in yet, duh."

"You sounded like a teenage girl just then."

I turned my head to the side, looking like a lost puppy. "Huh?"

"_Duh! _That, man." He was laughing at me. His huge, white smile cracked across his dark face.

I shrugged. "I'm still cool. Even as a teenage girl." I heard him chuckle deep in his throat. I stuck my head back in the closet. "Now where the hell are they, Coffin? Help me. They help me shake off the nerves before a show. I have one in an hour." I pulled my head back out to yell at him for not helping me look.

Something hit my head and landed on the ground. It was something with corners because one of them hit my cheek. I looked down.

"Hey! There they are!" I got up from the ground, smiling. "Thanks man."

He hit my upper arm, smiling too. "No problem. They were on the couch where you threw them last night." His smile was still glued to his face.

I pocketed my cigarettes. "That is why you are my best friend. Keeping my messy mind in order; you're really gonna go places one day, Coffin."

--

Little did I know how right I was in my prediction. Two weeks later, he walked out of our lives headed for marriage and a huge paycheck in real estate. The bastard.

I was never his best man. He married Allison, and his best man was some dick named Gerry that worked with Ben.

The next week, the guy came back to the loft to apologize. He I told him to go to hell, and he said he would be at the Life; he wanted to meet there to 'work all of our problems out'. Ha. That would take more than a few hours at the Life.

I watched him drive over to the café with his big fancy Mercedes, a silver little number which is only one step down from a mid-life crisis car; it was a wedding present from Muffy. I growled in the back of my throat. I thought long and hard. I had to do something; he destroyed our friendship, turned his back on his art, and became what bohemians hated most—a yuppie.

I grabbed my leather jacket, and headed out the door. I had the plan all in my head. I would mess with his precious car. I didn't know how at the time, but I was going t do something that was going to make Benjamin Coffin regret ever leaving me behind.

I finally reached the café. I saw his horrible silver car sitting in the sun near the sidewalk, perfectly parallel parked. I wanted to puke.

I felt that growl in the back of my throat again. The taste of bile and disgust bubbled in my mouth, my stomach on fire with rage. I couldn't take it. I hated him. I loathed his car. I loathed his wife. I loathed his wedding. I loathed his **life**. He was everything in life I hated. He was every putrid thing that I wanted wiped from the face of the earth.

I found a rock on the ground. It was a pretty good size. I played baseball in high school, so I could throw pretty damn hard. I was the star player.

I threw that rock at his driver side window. All my anger and frustration was heaved at that damn car. It shattered the glass. I laughed.

I wasn't done yet, though. I took a fairly large rock next. I carved _yuppie scum, love Davis_ into the driver's doors. I destroyed each and every window, despite that I had started to bleed from the scraping of the glass across my hands.

I opened the front. I tore out every valve, tube, and piece that I could out of that car. My hands were covered in gas and oil. I was panting and my face was blood red. My deed was done. The car was a pathetic heap of silver junk. It was just how I saw my friendship with that scum.

He walked out of the café, his jaw dropped in rage and surprise. I crossed my arms and laughed in his face.

I walked up to him. His jaw shut, clenching tightly in anger. I smirked and got right in his face. "Solves my problem." I punched his jaw, sending him to the ground. "Congrats on the wedding by the way, buddy." Buddy was lined with malice and hate.

I walked away from him. It was over. I hated him.

Human loathing.


	5. Pain

**Disclaimer: I don't own the genius that is RENT or its characters. That's all Jon, baby. :) **

**Warnings: Mentions of sex and contains foul language. It's RENT, whatcha expect? **

--

Pain is not always a bad thing, you know. I mean, I know that some people see pain as something to avoid but, there are also those people who need pain. There are people who need pain to feel, release, and let go. I've come across my fair share of pain-people. These people are not masochists, only people who desperately need something to make them feel alive in their sense dulling environment. Sometimes pain is needed to show the world that you exist. Sometimes, when you're so invisible, showing that you're in pain validates you.

Even if it's as that kid that broke his leg falling down the stairs in school. In front of everyone they know.

I'm Roger Davis, and I'm a pain-person. Well, at least I used to be.

From high school, all the way until the day I lost my girlfriend to suicide, I was a pain-person. But, I was special. I wasn't only one kind of pain person. I needed pain for everything on the spectrum. I needed it to feel, release, and to let go.

It all started near the end of my junior year in high school.

--

"Hey, Mark!" I ran to catch up with him. He was pretty fast for a completely out of shape albino. Well, my love of cigarettes might have contributed to the problem.

I clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Rog. How's it going?" He smiled genuinely at me.

I met his stride and faced forward. People passed us. So many fakes. Oh, right. Gotta answer. "I'm doing…good, actually. I finally got the band a gig. And, April finally looked my way." My smile grew larger as I thought about her.

"That's great, man. I'm really happy for you." I frowned.

"But, I…um..." My hands were shaking.

He adjusted his glasses and looked at me. "What's wrong?" Lines split across his forehead in concern.

I snapped the tight bracelet on my wrist, harsh red lines over lapping the other with each release. Mark's eyes flitted to the lines and back to my face. "Mark, I can't..."

Mark took my wrist. I flinched at the contact with my almost burned skin. He dragged us both into a nearby empty classroom. He shut the door and then turned to face me, his sharp blue orbs flooding with concern. My hands were shaking like mad. "Roger, talk."

My eyes darted around the room. Mark was my best friend, and I had trouble even telling this to **him**. This is crazy. "Um, never mind. It's not that big of a deal." I tried to escape. Mark stopped me.

Damn him.

"Roger, you're never like this. You only act this way when something horrible happened. Now tell me what's going on." His voice becomes a soft whisper and his eyes bore into mine. "Please."

I back away from the door and fall into a desk close to me. "Mark, I…" I take in a deep breath. "I thought I could keep this in. I thought that I could keep this to myself and no one would ever have to find out."

Mark watches me in worry and some kind of morbid fascination. I go on.

"Please hear me out the whole way, and don't say anything until I'm done. I won't be able to finish if you do. Please." I finally look up at my best friend. He nods for me to continue.

I take another shaky, deep breath. "Mark, I've started…hurting myself." I hear him make a noise. He wants to speak. I won't let him. "I didn't start doing it on a whim." I hear him sit in the desk next to mine. I take a quick glance at him.

My mind is reeling. "About a year ago, I was…raped." I pause, tears forming in the back of my eyes. I fear my voice won't be strong enough to go on. I feel Mark's hand on my arm and I feel like I can. "After it was over, I just got up and walked away. My mind was blank. I just, walked home and didn't think about it until the next day. I could barely move out of bed. They had really done a number on my body." I looked at Mark again. He was still silent.

I thanked him silently for that.

"When I got into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I saw all of the bruises. I fell to the ground and stared to sob like a baby. I cried until my eyes felt like they were on fire." I felt a tear fall down my cheek. "I didn't go to school for over a month. I couldn't."

"I remember that." He was so quiet, I almost didn't hear him. I nodded.

"You came over my house so often, I got used to hearing the door open with you on the other side."

"Your mom never let me in. On your orders."

I nodded silently.

"Well, for a while, I thought I was dealing with it well enough. It never left my mind, but I was slowly being able to live my life again." I shook my head. "Until, I started having nightmares. They were so vivid, that sometimes I thought that somehow it was all happening again. Like, I had gone back in time. It was horrible."

Mark was still quiet.

"Soon, in order to block out the pain from my nightmares, I forced myself not to feel anything. Not ever. I was afraid that if I did, my nightmares would feel real again."

I looked at Mark when I paused. After a few minutes of silence, I went on.

"But soon, I couldn't feel what I wanted to feel anymore. I couldn't feel hugs, humor, or even that feeling I get when I see April." I sighed. "So, the only way I could think to make it all better was to….well, you know."

He nodded. Silence.

"And that's it." I stared at the fake wood on the top of my desk. I couldn't look at Mark after all that.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. _

The clock's second hand was so loud I almost had the urge to cover my ears. Time was pushing in on me. I needed to hear Mark say something or I was gonna blow.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

"Roger, I'm here for you." He looked right at me. Our eyes connected. He pulled me into an embrace. "I'm not going anywhere."

Tears fell from my eyes like heavy rain. The pain was released.

--

I always knew that Mark would be there through all of my pain. I mean after that, I used pain as a way to follow the crowd I ended up in.

But, in the end, he was always there. All of them were there.

It was by the time I had met them all, Angel, Collins, Mark, Maureen, and Joanne, that I realized something; love is a much better release, feeling, and way to let go then pain ever was. pain would always be in my life, but I knew from somewhere deep down; my friends—family—were exactly what I needed.

I'm Roger Davis, and I am proud to say that I am now a love-person.

Human pain is gone when love is in the equation.

Love, conquers all.

--

**Different ending then you thought, huh? Did you like it? Ohhhhh, I hope so. I thought of more chapters! YAY! In school I think of them as I go through my every day situations. R&R pah-leaseeee. (: **

**saygnightx**

_**Te Amo. **_


	6. Lust

**Disclaimer: I don't own the genius that is RENT. That's all thanks to Jon Larson.**

**Warnings: Mentions of sex and contains foul language. It's RENT, whatcha expect? **

**Heyyy, kiddies. I know I haven't touched this fic in a while. But, I'm hoping my old readers will return and some new ones as well. **

**This one explores Roger's lustful life. Oh, this should be fun. (; **

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There's something about sex that is intoxicating. When you find someone that you love being with every move, every silence in between breathing seems like a drug. Sex becomes a legal drug.

Your mother tells you it's human to want to have sex. Your father tells you not to do it at all.

But somehow, you discover sex. It pulls you in, seeps into your mind makes your soul yearn for more. Acceptance and need are all wrapped into one package when you find someone who agrees to have sex with you.

What happens though, when you find someone that you actually love? When you both decide to make that commitment to one another, what does it mean? What does it feel like?

---

"Oh, wow baby. That was…I can't even…" Roger slips his hand up to his girlfriend's face, slick with sweat, and brings her face to his. "I love you." His eyes shine along with his words.

A small giggle escapes from the petite Latina. "I love you too honey. You were amazing." She runs her fingers through her long wet hair and sits up in the bed. The sheet she had wrapped around her slips from her form. Roger's eyes wander immediately and Mimi fixes her covering from the cold.

Roger sits up. He wraps his arms around his lover and pulls her body into his. His fingertips run down her arms as he breathes in her coconut shampoo from the top of her head. "I really can't believe how much better this is now that we've said 'I love you', you know? I mean, it's deeper," he blushes at the pun—something Mimi loves dearly, "more of a connection than we've ever had before."

Mimi turns her front to his, still wrapped in his arms. She kisses his left arm. "I know what you mean. It's like I can feel any words you might have said to me. I can feel that you love me, literally, with all that you are."

"I really do you know." Roger locks his eyes with hers, drowning in their beauty.

"I know you do my love." She strokes the side of his face, running her thumb over his rough unshaven cheek. "And I love you more than I could ever say in words alone." 

Roger tickled her sides. "Is that why we keep doing this?" Mimi giggles. "Practice until you can speak?"

Mimi's stretches wider across her face as she escapes his tickling grasp. "No! Well, I mean it is practice." Roger's confused face urges her to continue. "You know, it's said that children are born adorable if the parents have good sex. So, therefore it's practice so we can have gorgeous children!"

Roger's face twists in a held laugh. A snort escapes him. "Baby, that's the silliest thing I've ever heard. We'd already have gorgeous children. Look at us!" Roger turns them both to the distant mirror on the far wall of his room.

Mimi snuggles into her rocker, watching their reflection and smiling. They really were a pretty good looking couple. The young woman bites her lip with a sudden thought. She catches Roger's eye in the mirror. "Wanna get some more practice?"

Roger winks in the mirror. "Gotta keep those babies gorgeous!"

Human lust.

--

**Ha-ha. That was fun. I love Roger and Mimi. Well, even if I did take that from life. So what?**

**Hope you liked it! Review! Tell me what you wanna hear!**

**Love always,**

**saygnightx**


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